


i can feel you behind my eyes

by politicalmedievalistnerd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (non-sexual), Boners, Book 3: A Storm of Swords, Breastfeeding, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 20:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14386083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/politicalmedievalistnerd/pseuds/politicalmedievalistnerd
Summary: "You can touch me. It doesn't need to be like that. Unless it pleases you."One-shot. Sam and Gilly sleep in a wilding hut on the way to Whitetree, and find themselves without a fire.





	i can feel you behind my eyes

Sam reminded himself not to look. There were plenty of other, more important things to think about. Such as food. They had found yet another small, abandoned wildling village, and made a home of one shack for the night. It wasn’t Whitetree, but it would do. It had to be a good sign. Huddling against the wall, he longed for Castle Black, and the warmth of the hearth and his brothers. Sometimes he even missed the days in the gardens, following after his mother if there was the good fortune of Lord Randyll being away. No fire in his mind’s eye, however, seemed as warm as Gilly did.

The girl sat across from him, draped in his dark cape, feeding her son. Blue, twisting vines of veins looked apt to burst through the light skin on her breast and neck, contrasting with the hardened pink nipple. If he hadn’t been half-frozen, he would have risen, and it was the first time he had been thankful for the bitter cold. It was peaceful, watching mother and child. Sam couldn’t help but wish he had been destined for a life like that. He was not a fighter, for all they called him ‘Slayer’. Very happily would he never see a sword again. 

“It’s cold, Gilly,” he croaked out weakly. He felt like an idiot.  _ Of course it is, Sam, you’re Beyond the Wall in Autumn.  _ A series of japes and mockery entered his head, and he could hear them being spat out of his brothers’ mouths. If only they weren’t dead. But Gilly didn’t tease him, or think him stupid, as much as she ought to. She adjusted her babe instead, stroking the child’s head with a finger. 

“We’ll be at the Wall soon, though, won’t we?” she asked absent-mindedly. His head throbbed. He was almost certain this wasn’t Whitetree, but that didn’t mean he was any closer to finding where Whitetree  _ really  _ was. He was terrified of admitting it. What if Gilly ran home to Craster’s Keep? She had seemed eager to get out of there, but even so...Maybe anywhere would be better than being with Sam. He certainly wouldn’t like his own company. Besides, he was terrified of being called craven by her. There would never be such a blow as harsh as that, not even his father locking him in chains. She was braver than him, and faced the cold and terrors as firm as the Wall itself. She was made of ice, for true, as all the wildlings seem to be. Sam was made of...well, mainly stew.

Gilly seemed to notice his silence, and looked at him with large, shy eyes. “Me and the others...When it got bitter cold and we could not find enough kindling, we would sleep by each other to keep warm.” There was a pink in her cheeks, and her glance darted away as quickly as it had laid upon him. Sam’s heart raced a little faster, even if he could not figure out exactly what the proposal was. She had already offered to be his wife, if he wanted, or even just to sleep with him, and he had stammered out a no (that had crushed his heart, really, he didn’t  _ want  _ to say no), but ever since she had mentioned it, each night he had had such thoughts swirling around his head.  _ I am a man of the Night’s Watch,  _ he had to tell himself, over and over. Sam had never regretted his joining so fervently, not even in the midst of battle.

He wondered, idly, if there were any such women who had preferences for maiden men, as most men preferred a maiden woman. At least, in a wife.

“I might roll on him,” he reasoned, gesturing to the little boy. 

“Oh,” she said, softly. And then Gilly shook her head. “No, I don’t think you would. He’s strong, Sam.” The boy unlatched himself at this, cooing slightly. Gilly smiled at him, cheeks glowing, and with one hand she began lacing up the front of her dress. Before Gilly’s boy, he had scarcely seen a babe so young. He had wanted to see his siblings, and had begged his father, only to be sent away with a blow to the face.  _ “What does it matter what it looks like?”  _ his father had growled.  _ “You know it’s born and healthy, and there is no more for a man to concern himself with.”  _

“So long as it’s - it’s -” his voice broke, and he felt as if he was three-and-ten again, when his father first took him into the streets of Oldtown, though not to see the Citadel as he had hoped. Instead he was brought to a whorehouse, and his cheeks had burned in shame. His father had paid a girl, not to lay with him, but to laugh, to throw her head back and laugh at his size and redness, to taunt him. She’d had kind eyes and bare breasts, and he had sobbed silently half the journey home, barely managing to stay on his horse. He was frightened, and embarrassed, and filled with a wanting tainted by guilt. “Gilly, I am of the Night’s Watch. You know my vows.”

“I know, Sam,” she said lightly, wrapping one hand in the cloak she wore.  _ His,  _ and for a moment he imagined cloaking her beneath the rainbow light of the Seven.  _ One flesh, one heart, one soul... _ But his soul would make Gilly’s fearful, and unlike her completely. And the flesh would stop her from starving for a very long time. “Please? I’m cold too.” She held her boy close to her chest, and laid back on the icy floor. His heart panged, and he knew he could not leave her like that. Alone. 

He excused himself, and searched round the tiny home for any blankets. There was no such luck; they had disappeared with the people. Upon returning he pulled off his gloves, though his hands froze, and fashioned a small little cradle for the babe, with the help of a wooden bowl left behind. It was a blessing, in this case, that his hands were so fat and the little boy was so tiny. Then he laid down too, in the dark, not quite touching Gilly. Usually he excused himself to another room, scarcely sleeping at all, praying to the Old Gods and the new that he would be brave if someone came to harm them. 

He could feel her warmth, and hear her teeth chatter. The tips of his fingers were turning a bright, blighted red. In truth, he wasn’t altogether sure of how to go about this. He had only slept with other men, each keeping to themselves, facing the freezing nights alone. Sam had never held a girl before, or hugged one, aside from his lady mother. Gilly turned her head to face him, doe eyes wide. She was waiting, he realised. 

“Sam,” she breathed, raising her arm. He inhaled deeply and her hand touched the centre of his chest. The air came rushing out of him in a gasp. Her fingers were so slender and tiny against his big, hulking figure, and he was terrified that if he breathed too hard, he might break her.  _ She’s strong,  _ he reminded himself, but the fear lingered. “I promise I won’t make you forswear your vows.”

She inched closer, and he could feel the curve of her breasts against his arm. Sam hadn’t any idea what he was meant to do, but his instincts were kicking in. Something was screaming to wrap his arms around her, to place his lips on her cheek, her own lips. He clenched his teeth. She wriggled closer again, and her foot nudged his knee. “Sam, it’s okay. You can touch me. It doesn’t need to be like that. Unless it pleases you.”

He hesitated. And then, very, very slowly, he lifted his arm, the one opposite to her. He closed that hand on top of hers, and if the gods were viewing him from above, it would look as though he was swearing an oath. Sam’s senses were heightened - he could hear her every little puff of breath, and feel the pulse that fluttered beneath him.  _ Gilly,  _ he thought,  _ her blood and life and soul.  _ His eyes, stupidly, grew wet, and he blinked furiously. What sort of man cried at a woman’s touch?  _ But not every woman is Gilly.  _ He couldn’t say how long they stayed like that, his hand over hers, both still shivering, neither confident enough to make the next move. Perhaps he had fallen into a slumber at some point, but the next time he was aware of his surroundings, she had wrapped her other arm around his. Her feet were tucked in the crook of his knee. 

“Gilly,” he said, involuntarily, and she blinked at him, lips trembling and blue. In the dark cover of night, nobody could see them, and he gave in, pulling his arm out of her grip and then snaking it beneath her, until it curled around her back. His fingers hovered, as he tried to miss touching an inappropriate place, but she grabbed his wrist and pulled his palm to her belly, then squished it between herself and his side. “Gilly.” The tears came again. He could feel her heart beating and her chest rising and falling with every breath and it was  _ so  _ much,  _ too  _ much. It was the closest he had ever been to another person, and he wanted to cry out, to pray. For days he had run from death, from the Stranger, but not until now had he felt so  _ alive,  _ with someone lying on him,  _ re _ lying on him. He couldn’t blink them away quickly enough, and the drips rolled down his cheeks. 

 

“Sam,” she murmured, into the soft folds of his doublet. “Thank you, Sam. Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's sad that there isn't much Sam/Gilly out there, so I decided to write some! I love them both so dearly.


End file.
